A/N: It's refreshing to know that after I ditched you guys oh-so-rudely for about an eternity and a half, I still have some loyal and kind readers/reviewers. I love you guys!

Anyway, this one is about Apollo. I think I dug really deep, in an effort to explain his protectiveness over Artemis. I'm...really uber proud of it. But I guess YOU GUYS should be the judge of whether or not it's good.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or anything affiliated with Percy Jackson. Thank you, my good people.

~i want you to know~

If there was one thing that Apollo loved more than himself, it was Artemis. It didn't matter that it was his responsibility to drive the sun chariot across the sky every morning, and then again in the opposite direction at night. It didn't matter that, being the god of so many things, he truly did have a lot of work on his hands. It didn't even matter that he had a vicious sex drive and, according to everyone's expectations, should be prowling the streets of some mortal city he hadn't hit yet in search of a new lover. And most of all, it didn't matter that he had a reputation to worry about – he had a soft spot for his baby sister, and she would always be his top priority.

When Apollo tried to think back far enough to pinpoint a certain time and place that his protectiveness over his twin sister Artemis originated, he usually ended up giving up immediately. It seemed like he'd always felt the urge to stay connected to her, to know where she was at all times and if she was safe. So Apollo had always made a point to just assume that his brotherly love for Artemis had always been instilled in him – which it had been. Of course it had.

Instead, he tried to imagine the time and place that he'd made a promise to himself: a promise to protect his 'little' sister no matter the cost. That had happened, and without thinking for too long, Apollo could remember.

He could remember seeing his mother's face for the last time – that pale, clammy, sickeningly hurt face. He'd watched her die (that is, fade away completely; true death was not a common obstacle for immortals). He had watched her shaking, seizing, completely losing her mind. And in that moment, as Leto slowly dimmed into nothingness, Apollo could remember looking down at his mother, completely frozen with shock and depression after having tried everything he could think of to revive her, and thinking, She has Artemis' eyes.

But now those eyes – Leto's, of course – were fluttering closed; those beautifully intense, deep melting pots of silver and gold, fighting for dominance, were sealing shut forever. Apollo waited for the moment when his mother's eyes would flash open - just like in the mornings of his childhood, when the twins would wander to her bedroom and climb on her as she slept, and she would say, "Good morning," in that soothing, motherly voice of hers and proceed to lead them to the kitchen for breakfast.

But no. No eyes. No greeting. No quail eggs for breakfast.

Apollo had grasped Leto's hand tightly until the moment she officially dissipated – dissipated.

Into thin air.

Gone.

And then he'd sat, stared into space, and desperately pushed back the too-human emotions that were rushing at him faster than they ever had before.

Apparently, they were rushing at Artemis faster.

Artemis, who had been watching from behind Apollo the entire time, too frightened and devastated to even comprehend doing something about it, had first released a tiny whimper, which then evolved and transformed into a full-out, heart wrenching sob-fest.

Apollo had turned around quickly, stunned, and upon seeing his sister – that small, fragile, poor, helpless girl – decided against trying to force back his feelings any longer.

He cried.

He reached for her at the same time that she reached for him, and as soon as their hands made contact with the other's, they melted into an embrace – two tormented, desperate souls in need of one another to feel complete again.

It seemed that they had cried for hours, but looking back, Apollo could never put a number on the stretch of time that was filled with his tears, and with hers. All he remembered was that after the weeping, he had sniffled and pulled his head back from where it rested on Artemis' – if only for a moment – and suddenly, it hit him like a bag of solid gold bricks.

She was vulnerable! So, so vulnerable – and he'd only just realized it. Artemis had always been talented at shielding her emotions. She could keep an even expression if she was angry; she could force a friendly smile if she was irritated…

…but when something like this came slamming into her I'm-alright-it's-okay façade/shield, one could see how fragile she was really capable of being. To the unobservant eye, she might have appeared to be an invincible, impossibly strong goddess, whose chances of breaking were microscopic in comparison to anyone else's.

But even the roughest exteriors were malleable. All it took was a little effort.

As Apollo sat, holding her, feeling her salty silver tears soak his bare shoulder, he knew he couldn't do this. He couldn't just sit by and watch.

This is too much for her. My baby sister; my best friend.

And so after that fateful day, he'd made a pact. With himself.

He hadn't voiced it to anyone else – except Leto, in a prayer he fervently hoped she was still capable of hearing – and he hadn't put it down on paper, but he knew, and that was all he needed. He would guard Artemis, and her happiness, and her safety, (and most importantly her virginity, but that was another story for another time) with all of his heart and all of his love. She needed to…

She needed to know.

She needed to know how much he loved her; how he would do anything for her; how she would never have to feel those emotions ever again.

And Apollo had tensed. No, no. He couldn't honestly promise her that. Even with the advantage his prophecies and visions offered him, he could never assure her of the Fates' intentions.

The most he could do was give his all, for her, and only for her. That way, even if the Fates decided to play particularly masochistically one day and send a curveball flying their way, he would still be able to hold up his side of the deal.

Looking back on all of this now, Apollo realized that the hardest part wasn't the sacrifices he made for Artemis. The hardest part wasn't being chastised for abandoning his duties or being dumped by his lady friends because he was never around.

The hardest part of it all was that she still thought he was just being annoying, a nuisance, an airhead. She thought he was only playing the role of over-protective brother because it made him look good. She honestly thought this was all out of arrogance.

The hardest part was that, despite his best efforts, she still didn't know.

End Note: I hope this makes as much sense to you guys as it did to me... :/ Haha. HAPPY SUMMER 2011 BITCHES. (:

-Chelsea